


It Wouldn’t Work Between Us

by BeanPie



Series: The Best of Them [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 18:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18696982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeanPie/pseuds/BeanPie
Summary: The morning after their long night in the crypts, Sansa pays Tyrion a visit. Spoilers for 8x03.





	It Wouldn’t Work Between Us

Tyrion’s room was largely undamaged. A few small panes of glass were cracked in one of the windows, and the door had a chunk taken out if it, but otherwise you might not have known that a battle had taken place just hours earlier.

He knew that he needed to get up, to wash the sweat and grime and blood away. But after such a long and terrifying night, even the oddly upright wooden chair was just too comfortable to leave. The adrenaline that had been screaming through his body had been replaced by a weariness which was seeping into his bones. 

A knock jolted Tyrion from his dozing and, with a groan, he hauled himself from his chair to pull open the door. Instead of Pod, or a servant bringing food, the Lady of Winterfell stood framed in the doorway, still glorious in the battle dress she had been wearing the night before.

“Lady Sansa,” Tyrion said. She swept wordlessly into his quarters, and stopped with her back to him, as if she was inspecting the broken window. 

Tyrion shut the door softly and waited for her to speak. When the silence had stretched to an uncomfortable length, and wanting to stop his mind running away with itself debating the reason for her visit, he asked, “Can I get you some wine?”

Sansa turned to face him, apparently startled by his voice, and inclined her head in assent. He busied himself pulling two cups from the dresser and filling them with the remainder of his wineskin. Still she said nothing. When he passed her goblet to her, their fingertips touched. Her whole body jumped.

She took a rather unladylike slug, and Tyrion was reminded of their wedding night. What need did she have for courage now?

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she said finally. 

“Well that makes two of us,” Tyrion said with a chuckle. Sansa wasn’t laughing. He gestured to the chair opposite the one he had been occupying. “Would you like to sit down?” 

“I said it wouldn’t work,” she said, examining the contents of her cup intently. 

Tyrion had been trying so hard to forget about what had passed between them in the crypts. People said and did things they didn’t mean when they thought they were about to die. But why would she bring it up again if it hadn’t meant something to her too? “Between us?” he said, cursing the waver in his voice.

Her beautiful blue eyes just stared at him. He swallowed; this was his chance. “Is your only reservation about… us… your belief that my loyalties would be divided?” Tyrion had not missed that her argument against them being together had nothing to do with him as a person or any of his many flaws. “Because if that is the case, you don’t need to worry.” 

Sansa slammed her cup down on the mantelpiece. “Of course I’d need to worry! You’re the Hand of the Queen, and Daenerys and I will be enemies before all of this is over.”

In spite of her anger, Tyrion couldn’t help smiling. She had been a frightened girl during their time in King’s Landing, and now she had grown into a woman confident enough to challenge the Dragon Queen. Not to mention, she was acknowledging the possibility of the two of them as a couple, and hadn’t given any other reason why they shouldn’t be together. “I _am_ the Hand of the Queen, but if it ever came down to a choice… you would win. Every time.”

Sansa took a step back, and Tyrion immediately feared he had misread the situation terribly. Of course she wouldn’t be interested in him. She didn’t need his gold, which was the only thing women ever found appealing about him. And her decision to only name an external obstacle rather than his long list of unattractive qualities must simply have been a kindness to him. But then, in a tiny voice, she said, “You would choose me? Over her?”

Tyrion frowned. “Without question.” 

“But she’s so…” 

He could imagine the long list of adjectives she wished to finish her sentence with: beautiful, intelligent, strong. “My lady, the Queen doesn’t have anything that you don’t have.” 

Sansa snorted. “Well for a start, she has dragons.” 

“Ah, my mistake. And dragons _are_ the most important quality I look for in a woman. I’m afraid I shall have to revise my answer - I choose Daenerys.” 

Sansa smiled at him then, and Tyrion knew that was the end for him. He would do absolutely anything to make her smile again. He approached her cautiously and took her hand, as if she were a bird that might fly away at any moment. “Sansa, I-“ He cleared his throat. “I’m yours. I have been yours since our wedding day.”

Tyrion braced himself for rejection, but before he realised what was happening, she bent to kiss him. It was quick and chaste, and the best thing he could ever remember. A grin spread across his face as she cast her eyes down to the floor. “I don’t know what madness has taken hold of you,” he said, but she interrupted him before he could finish.

“It’s not madness! And you shouldn’t be so harsh against yourself.” She pulled her hand from his and began to pace. “Do you realise that you’re the only man left alive who makes me feel truly safe? I know that doesn’t sound like much, but to me-“ She shook her head. “Even down in the crypts, when I thought I was going to die, I looked at you and I felt like it was somehow going to be ok. You’ve always protected me.” 

Her confidence in him was surely misplaced; he had been present for at least half of the awful things that had happened in her life. “That’s a very generous reading of our history,” Tyrion said. “Although I did mean it when I vowed to protect you before the Seven.” 

She sat as he had suggested and began fiddling with a stray thread on her skirt. “So what do we do now?” 

Tyrion hesitated. _He_ wanted to learn everything about her, and get married, and share her bed, and have a house full of children, and spend every day of the rest of their lives together. But he was fairly sure there was no chance that she had spent as much time as he had imagining their future. Fortunately, he was saved from terrifying her with his plans by her stomach giving a loud grumble. Sansa bit her lip. “I don’t remember when I last ate.”

“Then _now_ , I am going to enjoy a meal with my wife. Or, ex-wife… what are you exactly?” 

A pretty blush spread across Sansa’s face. “Let’s say wife.” 

Tyrion wasn’t sure whether he was going to laugh, cry, or throw up. He certainly didn’t have any kind of eloquent response to that. So instead he headed for the door, with the promise of fetching some food. When he reached the handle though, he turned back and strode across the room until he was stood before her. He cupped her cheek, her soft skin icy from the frigid air, and pressed his lips to hers, pouring all the love and longing of their years of separation into the kiss. To his amazement, she kissed him back, and even reached up to wind her fingers through his hair. 

They broke apart and he rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, Sansa,” Tyrion said, his voice cracking.

“I love you too,” she breathed, and for a moment he was worried his heart might stop. And then her stomach rumbled again.

Tyrion gave an over dramatic sigh. “My wife is so demanding!” he said. “Very well, I will begin my quest for food.” He kissed her forehead and left her. 

“Don’t be too long, husband!” Sansa called through the closed door. Tyrion’s walk to the kitchens turned into a run, and he spent the journey debating exactly how inappropriate it would be to ask for something as frivolous as lemon cakes.

 


End file.
